


Fire Red

by Qitana



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged up! Yuri, Alternate Universe, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Injuries, NOW WITH FANART THAT'S OUTTA THIS GODDAMN WORLD, Piercings, Tattoos, firefighter! Otabek, implied victuuri, most of this fic takes place in an elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 00:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9148513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qitana/pseuds/Qitana
Summary: The static reaches its peak before someone says, “Hello Mr Yuri Plisetsky.”He’s different from the first person, of this Yuri is certain. He jolts slightly when the man pronounces his full name, and he finds an absurd amount of comfort in his voice. It’s soft and warm, with a stoniness that could rival Yakov’s and Lilia’s, and his accent makes it endearing as hell. A small flame slowly starts to burn inside of Yuri for reasons he can’t possibly fathom. It’s just a man’s voice, and a stranger’s to boot, but he feels significantly better already.“Hmph,” he manages to grunt through clenched teeth. Yuri exhales harshly before continuing, “Who are you? And how do you know my name?”“My name is Otabek Altin.” Yup, Yuri’s right- the man has an extremely nice voice, a rumble that’s deep and earthy. “I’m second in command.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> i just wanna say i spent a ridiculous amount of time on this but otayuri is worth it so there's that.
> 
> Also my knowledge on the workings of an elevator is negligible, so is my knowledge on the heirarchy of the fire brigade. Please forgive any inaccuracies.
> 
> Edit: **[NARU HAS BLESSED US WITH THIS INCREDIBLE ART PLEASE LOOK AT IT AND SOB WITH ME THANKS](http://nairuru.tumblr.com/post/156049074306/happy-birthday-qi-tana-%EF%BE%89-%E3%83%8E-this-is)**

Yuri’s scrolling through his instagram feed and sneering at _yet_ another cheesy ass picture of Victor and pork cutlet when he strolls into the elevator, gym bag slung across his shoulder. He briefly takes his eyes off his phone to press the ground level button on the control panel to the left before he switches to twitter, chuckling softly at all the kitty pictures that fill his feed.

He’s on the 41st floor, which means he has a _long_ way to go, so it surprises Yuri when the elevator jolts to a stop far too soon. He’s made this commute enough number of times to know something’s wrong. The thought of someone else stopping the lift doesn’t even cross his mind- it’s 3:30 in the goddamn morning, and no one but Lilia, _that old hag_ , could be cruel enough to force their students to reach the studio by 4 to train.

His first reaction is to growl in both anger and frustration. He really can’t afford to waste time in a stupid lift, not when he has more important things to do like practise for the upcoming free skate, especially when he has to beat piggy and Phitchit and that godforsaken JJ at World’s afterwards. He taps his feet against the marbled floor, his fingers drumming against his forearm, phone tucked into his jacket pocket. He waits for 5 minutes, then 7, then 10 before realising he’s actually, probably stuck.

The panic doesn’t set in immediately. The first thing he does is hit the alarm, that big red button that seems to mock him by saying something along the lines of _I’m so big and obviously in sight and it just occurred to you that you gotta press me? How dumb are you?_

Nothing happens. There’s no change in the position of the elevator, nothing. No voice calling to him, apologizing for the inconvenience and promising to get him out soon. Yuri’s shrouded by an eerie silence that starts to crawl up his spine in the most uncomfortable way. He swallows thickly, past the slow forming lump in his throat and hits the button again.

The silence isn’t broken.

Yuri whips his phone out and he’s almost relieved to see at least one bar of signal. He hits speed dial 2 and exhales sharply when the phone rings, albeit in a broken, not so promising manner.

Lilia answers on the third ring, “You better not be late.”

“I’m stuck in the lift,” Yuri grumbles, rubbing his forehead slowly. He feels a headache forming from being in that same closed space for so long. He’s not exactly claustrophobic, but with every passing moment, he realises how truly _tiny_ the lift is, with white marble and mirrors the only things to keep him company.

“That is a pathetic excuse, Yuri, and I refuse to let you off easily.”

Yuri bites back every insult that lays at the tip of his tongue, “I’m not lying. I’m stuck in this goddamn elevator, and I’ve been in here 20 minutes.”

He’s met with a silence almost as eerie as the silence in the lift. Lilia’s voice keeps breaking, but it’s not bad enough that he can’t hear it.

“Yuri.” There’s a seriousness in her voice that frightens Yuri, no matter how much he refuses to admit it. “Have you tried using the alarm?”

“Of course I have,” Yuri hisses, his fist clenching and unclenching. “I figured since it’s so early it’ll take longer, just called you to give you a heads up.”

“Yuri, you might be in trou-“

The phone decides to die on him that very moment and Yuri cannot fucking _believe_ it. He hadn’t missed the urgency in Lilia’s voice in that last sentence. The fear that ebbs from her panic, coupled with the sensation of all the walls closing in on him is not doing Yuri any favors.

It finally occurs to Yuri, at 3:54 on a cold Tuesday morning that something might be really, seriously wrong.

~

Otabek hates the morning shift.

He can’t believe they even call it that. It’s more like the _god-fucking-dammit-why-am-I-even-awake-at-this-unholy-hour_ shift. He’s still got about an hour and a half to go, but he isn’t sure if he’s going to survive. There’s a cloud of exhaustion that blankets his mind, and all he can think about is his bed- covered in pillows and plush toys from his sister and his favorite blue rug. 

He’s so tempted to dump this shift on his partner, especially considering he’d been here for the past 18 hours, and just leave. He even gets up and stretches, his partner’s name on the tip of his tongue when suddenly, the sound of the phone ringing echoes across the entire fire department. It’s loud and shrill, ringing with an urgency that sets Otabek on edge the way it always does. In his line of work, the phone calls are never ever a good thing.

He’s closest to the phone so he grabs the receiver and presses it to his ear, “Hello?”

“Is this the fire department?” The woman’s voice is cold and crisp, like a glass of ice cold water. Otabek doesn’t even notice when he straightens up, completely involuntarily.

“Yes ma’am, how may I help you?”

He hears her inhale softly, “I think my student may be in trouble.”

Otabek has already shifted into his professional mode, pulling the nearest pen and pad towards him, “Where is he right now?”

“He’s staying at the Ritz. He called me from the elevator, said it had stopped in the middle. He also mentioned that he’d hit the alarm but nothing had happened.”

Otabek suddenly feels that nauseating sensation of both heat and chill coursing through the blood in his veins. He forces his thundering heartbeat to quiet down, quickly jolting down the address that is rambled across the phone.

“We’ll be there as soon as we can,” he promises the woman, Lilia, before placing the receiver back in the socket.

“Otabek,” his senior drawls, lounging in his chair, “what’s up?”

“We have a problem,” he says, looking for his helmet and the truck keys. “Elevator’s stuck, and it’s not a technical issue.”

“Shit.” His senior and every member of his group begin gearing up immediately, running around and yelling out for their helmets. They’re out of the station in five minutes.

~

Yuri finds himself on the floor, knees bent and pressed into his chest, back rested against the mirror.

He’s trying his best to not think, just focus on his breathing. Every soft inhale, the air circulating from his lungs to every pore in his body before the inevitable exhale, before repeating the cycle. It works for about 3 minutes before he’s panicking again, the walls practically caving in on him.

He’s never felt this _alone_ his entire life. Yuri isn’t someone that appreciates being surrounded by hoards and hoards of people, be it strangers or people he’s familiar with. His favorite place to be is the living room back home, with the fire crackling gently, casting warm yellow and orange lights over everything. He likes to read by the fire, a blanket thrown over his body, while grandpa sits in the corner and smokes his pipe, the cat curled in his lap. They don’t need to speak, just be _there_ , be there in that moment. It’s the most peaceful ones he’s ever experienced.

Yuri closes his eyes and tries to visualize the room. It helps- he can feel the heat at the tips of his fingers, hear his grandpa’s every breath, feel the softness of the rug. He can see it all so clearly, but the pang of loneliness and panic keeps hitting him. Soft tears sting the very corner of his eyes, and Yuri tries his best to bite them back, because he doesn’t want to break, doesn’t want to admit how much trouble he’s in, doesn’t want the panic to set in completely. He’s scared he won’t be able to take it back if he does.

He thinks he’s imagining it, when a speaker comes to life, the static so soft it’s barely audible. Yuri holds his breath, every nerve ending alive and fired up. His fingertips tingle and his stomach clenches in anticipation.

“-ri can you hear us?”

“Ye-“ his voice catches but Yuri clears it immediately before damn near shouting “Yes, I can.”

“Good, we can hear you too. How you holding up?”

The man’s voice sounds too relaxed, too uncaring, grating on Yuri’s nerves in the most unpleasant manner. “How do you think?” He snarls, lifting his head up and glaring at the speaker. “I’ve been here over an hour and this is the first I’m hearing from some one, for fuck’s sake.”

“We wanna apologise for that,” the man utters sheepishly, and Yuri can picture him rubbing the back of his neck. “We weren’t notified until your teacher, a Mrs Lilia, called us.”

“Wait, you’re not from the hotel?”

The man hums, “Nope, We’re the fire brigade.”

Yuri’s throat constricts, and he feels like it’s suddenly ten times harder to breathe. “Wh-“ he chokes and coughs violently, before continuing, “Why are you guys here?”

“The problem is more complicated than previously anticipated.” There’s a sound of paper rustling before the man continues, “There’s no technical issue as such, the lift and the electric power is fine, which means the problem lies in the structure itself. That’s an issue the hotel is ill equipped in handling, and that’s also why they couldn’t detect an issue until we notified them. Nothing came up on their systems.”

Yuri’s hands are feeling excessively clammy, and he finds himself biting back tears again, the sting in his throat ridiculously painful. “Am I going to be ok?” his voice dies towards the end, and his vision begins to blur, every part of his body shaking harshly.

“Sir? Sir, you with me?”

Yuri wants to answer but he finds himself shaking even harder, his knees trembling. He pulls them back to his chest and hugs himself, a sob escaping his lips. He doesn’t even care anymore. He wants to go back home and crawl under that rug and drink hot tea and listen to grandpa sit beside him and just _relax_.

There’s more static on the mic, and Yuri faintly hears some people arguing, something about _You’re freaking him the fuck out are you stupid?_ and _He’s an adult he should be told._

The static reaches its peak before someone says, “Hello Mr Yuri Plisetsky.”

He’s different from the first person, of this Yuri is certain. He jolts slightly when the man pronounces his full name, and he finds an absurd amount of comfort in his voice. It’s soft and warm, with a stoniness that could rival Yakov’s and Lilia’s, and his accent makes it endearing as hell. A small flame slowly starts to burn inside of Yuri for reasons he can’t possibly fathom. It’s just a man’s voice, and a stranger’s to boot, but he feels significantly better already.

“Hmph,” he manages to grunt through clenched teeth. Yuri exhales harshly before continuing, “Who are you? And how do you know my name?”

“My name is Otabek Altin.” Yup, Yuri’s right- the man has an extremely nice voice, a rumble that’s deep and earthy. “I’m second in command.”

Yuri quirks his brows, his limbs slowly loosening, the tremble all but a distant memory. “That doesn’t answer my second question- how do you know my name?”

“I happen to be an ice skating fan.”

Yuri narrows his eyes before shrugging, as if to disregard the reason when he realises Otabek can’t see him. So he says, “Whatever. Now prove it.”

“Prove what exactly, Mr Yuri?”

“That you’re a skating fan, and not just my stalker. I’ve dealt with stalkers before, and it’s a fucking pain in the ass.”

He hears laughter, but not from Otabek. He knows this because Otabek’s laugh would never be this high pitched and annoying, boisterous in a way that makes Yuri want to cover his ears.

“I don’t really have to prove anything to you,” Otabek says once the laughter dies down, sounding monotonous but maybe just the slightest bit amused, “but if you insist.” 

The man takes a few moments to collect his thoughts. In the meantime, Yuri is impressed by how calm he is, excited almost, to hear what this man has to say. There’s just something about him- about the way he’s not sugar coating the situation but still making Yuri feel better, and it’s not like he’s really trying or anything, it’s just _happening_ , ever so naturally.

“Five years ago, when you first debuted in the senior category, your performance was immaculate. Your loss to JJ was inevitable, since he was practically a machine with all those quads that he landed so perfectly. But you had, and have, the eyes of a soldier.”

There’s a brutal honesty to the way he speaks, every sentence concise and unbiased, with just the tiniest touches of emotion. Yuri feels just the smallest specks of jealousy from before, from when he lost as a 15 year old to that stupid JJ, but he’s come to accept his defeats over the years, even if it’s not in the most gracious of manners.

“Every year, you surprise the crowd. You surprise them with your growth and your technique, your grace and your strength. Phichit has incredible diversity in his routine, Yuuri Katsuki has an innocence that’s almost debauched when he does routines that get increasingly raunchy over the years, JJ is still a strong contender with his incredible combos, but you’re the dark horse. The unpredictable one.”

Yuri sucks in a deep breath, latching onto every word the man says.

“You make axel combos look easy. The way you spin, the way you ground yourself, the way you use your petite figure and stereotypically feminine features to your advantage proves your strength. I can’t recall a single time that I’ve seen you on the ice and not been glued to the screen the whole time.”

Yuri scoffs, folding his arms across his chest. The fire begins to burn brighter. “That sounds pretty stalker like to me.”

There’s a muffled laugh, or maybe a chuckle would better describe it, and this one Yuri knows belongs to Otabek. It has a genuine _rawness_ to it that can’t be faked. 

“Now that you mention it, it does, doesn’t it?”

Yuri’s about to retort with something clever and funny when suddenly, Otabek interrupts him. “We seem to have gotten access to the camera.”

The camera on the right hand corner of the elevator shifts up and down before landing on Yuri and focusing. “You look ok.”

Yuri shrugs, “I feel ok.”

“That’s good.” Yuri hears relief in Otabek’s voice and he frowns, because why would he care that much? 

“Are you in any pain?”

Yuri places a finger on his chin, pretending to think. “Physically? Not really. The pain from boredom alone? Let’s say it crossed like four million and ninety seven a fucking while ago, on a scale of one to ten.”

“That’s an oddly specific number,” Otabek observes and Yuri simply sticks his tongue out, directing his gaze towards the camera.

“Well, you asked.”

“Not really, but ok.”

The conversation lulls, but the silence isn’t particularly awkward. It isn’t nearly as comfortable as the one Yuri shares with gramps, he knows nothing ever will be, but it’s not too bad he supposes. There are worse things, like sitting in a room with Victor and pork cutlet while they suck face. It’s positively _revolting_.

“Yuri?”

Yuri doesn’t remember shutting his eyes, but he doesn’t bother opening them, simply grumbles, “Yeah?”

“Do you like skating?”

It’s a stupid question, so stupid Yuri _almost_ howls in laughter. He’s a world renowned ice skater, someone that’s broken a few world records and won enough golds to prove his worth if he chose to retire that very moment. He may even go down as one of the best skaters to have existed, and these are Yakov’s words, not his own.

But Yuri doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even smile. He pursues his lips and thinks, because the truth of the matter is he didn’t like skating, not until very recently anyway.

He was always good at it, blessed with natural grace and speed, a competitive drive that kept him in the running and the will to be number one. But there was no love from his side, none that he could muster and put forward as proof of his affection for the sport. It took him a long, long time to realize that skating was more than just about winning, making money, putting your name out there. That skating was about being free, and being yourself, your rawest most vulnerable self, and allowing the audience the tiniest of glimpses at your most basic persona, the mask and the cloak ripped off, leaving you bare.

“I do,” Yuri answers honestly, fingers tapping his knees. “Not always, but I do like it.” Somehow, he can’t seem to lie to this person, not when he’s asking the right questions, with an obvious _don’t-bullshit-me_ tone.

“What is your favorite colour?”

Yuri narrows his eyes, a frown twisting his lips. “Mint green.”

“Favorite animal?”

“Ok hold on, what the hell are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

Yuri scowls, sitting up straighter and directing his gaze at the camera. “What’s with the questions? They’re kinda weird, and pretty one sided.”

Yuri hears the sound of someone murmuring before Otabek continues, “Well, I’m trying to distract you and get to know you a little. We have a surprising lot in common. Plus, you might be in there a while, so I’d suggest you get comfortable.”

Yuri groans, his head falling between his knees. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Not really. And uh-“ Otabek clears his throat before continuing, “I like my job, it’s very satisfying, even though I’m perpetually exhausted. And my favorite colour is a tie between blue and black.”

Yuri’s stunned by the fact that he actually cares, that he actually registers the information and stores it in his brain for another time. He tries to force down the smile that tugs at his lips but eventually gives in, smirking at the camera.

“Hm, I like cats. No wait, scratch that- I _love_ cats. They’re so much better than humans too. What about you?”

“I like bears. It may have something to do with the absurdly large number of plushies my sister has gifted me over the years.”

The fact that Otabek says it so seriously is what makes Yuri laugh, a real, from the belly kinda laugh that he hasn’t experienced in ages. It feels good, great even, and Yuri has a faceless man to thank.

“What’s with that?” he wonders out loud, still smiling. “That’s so strange.”

He hears faint shouts of _Holy crap is Otabek smiling_ and _Oh my god the apocalypse is here, Otabek is fucking smiling_. He isn’t sure what’s going on but he doesn’t really care- just so long as Otabek continues to converse with him.

“Ok my turn.” Yuri crosses his legs and sits up, back completely off the mirror, a look of rapt interest on his face. He can almost picture his faceless man smile again.

“Go for it.”

~

Yuri learns many things about Otabek Altin.

He now knows that the man is 24, and he’s from Almaty, Kazakhstan, which explains the accent. He used to figure skate, a long time ago, but before he could make it to the big stage, a career costing injury forced him into a ridiculously early retirement. Instead of drowning in self pity, Otabek decided to throw himself into something else, something physically challenging and mentally rewarding and realized firefighting was a perfect fit. Yuri reluctantly admits that he respects the man’s will power and strength, finding it difficult to think of a world where he didn’t ice skate.

They’ve lapsed into a soft silence again, but Yuri likes it. The walls don’t feel as close anymore, and the silence is filled with the constant hum of the speaker, a reassurance of sorts. It sucks to be so alone, but he doesn’t feel truly alone, not when he knows Otabek’s on the other side of the mic.

“Yuri?”

Yuri still cant understand why he likes it to much when Otabek says his name, says it in that deep and calming way, in a manner that makes Yuri feel like the only thing Otabek’s focused on is him, and absolutely nothing else.

“Yeah?”

“Are you hungry?”

Yuri nods, “Fucking starving. I had to skip out on breakfast since I was up so early. Speaking of which, what time is it?”

“It is 11:29.”

Yuri’s eyes widen. “Fuck! It’s been that long?”

Otabek hums, “Indeed.”

“No offense,” Yuri says, an icy edge to his tone, “but what the fuck have your men been up to?”

“We’re trying to access the roof because we’re going to be bringing a crane from above. We need to hoist you and the elevator car up, at least till we can reach a floor where we can open the door and pull you to safety before fixing the elevator. Unfortunately, it takes a bit of time to set that all up.”

Yuri massages his temple and growls, his headache slowly resurfacing.

“Your teacher called by the way, said she’s on her way. She’s been trying to reach your coach, Yuri Katsuki and Victor. Also, your grandpa is on his way as well.”

“Fuck!” Yuri yells, banging his fist against the floor. “Why would she want grandpa to exert himself? He needs to rest! And she doesn’t have to bother Victor or that damn piggy, this is none of their concern.”

Otabek begs to differ. “Victor and Yuuri Katsuki are apparently extremely worried and currently on their way. They care about you dearly Yuri, don’t belittle their feelings.”

Yuri pouts like a petulant child, but Otabek’s words make his heart thunder in his chest. It’s nice to be reaffirmed of the fact that someone out there cares, especially when that someone is a person you care about in return. Yuri looks down, his hair covering his face and that stupidly huge smile on his lips.

“Otabek.”

“Yeah?”

Wha-“ Yuri’s sentence is interrupted by the sound of metal protesting against metal, from right above him, and it’s the most _terrifying_ noise he’s ever heard.

Yuri wants to ask Otabek about his sister. He wants to ask him which plushie is his favorite. He wants to ask him so many things, wants to get to know this absolutely intriguing, surprisingly shy man, but he never gets the chance to, because one moment he’s sitting there, eyes trained on the camera, entire body tensed-

-the next, the elevator is plummeting, and the last thing Yuri Plisetsky hears is Otabek, screaming his name.

~

Yuri wakes up to the smell of blood, feeling disoriented and slightly dazed. He’s not sure how he got there, on a white marbled floor, but he does know it’s pretty fucking uncomfortable.

It’s not until he tries to sit up when a jolt of the most excruciating pain he’s ever felt in his life shakes his entire body, a scream of pain pushing past his cut lips. Yuri’s face scrunches up in pain, a loud ringing in his ears, his head practically throbbing in pain. He faintly remembers Otabek screaming his name, and he remembers a vacuum like feeling in his belly, similar to the sensation of when you go down on a rollercoaster, but so much worse.

“Yuri? Mr Yuri, are you conscious?”

Yuri doesn’t want to respond because not only is it a lot of effort, it’s not Otabek. He doesn’t want to respond, but he knows if he doesn’t they’re not going to stop pestering him and that’s so much worse.

“Yeah, I’m alive.”

“Thank fuck,” the man breathes out, before continuing, “are you hurt? We lost visual on you, but the speakers and mic are still working.”

“I’m fi-“

He’s not. He’s not, because there’s a sharp metallic smell in the air, a smell that cant be mistaken for anything but blood, and there’s no one else in there but him. That’s when Yuri notices the stains of red on the white floor, patches of it spread everywhere, splotched on the mirror and even the metallic door.

The man’s voice cuts through his panic, “Sir?”

“There’s blood,” Yuri chokes out, resisting the urge to be sick. “A bit of it.”

“Can you locate the source of the bleed?”

Carefully, Yuri begins to move different parts of his body, testing, trying to locate the problem. It doesn’t take him long to realize it’s his arm, his left arm, cut deeply, the gash still bleeding.

“It’s my arm, there’s a pretty fucking huge cut.”

“Ok ok um-“ The man sounds hassled, but he pulls himself together. “Tear a piece of cloth from your shirt or any cleanish material around you and tie it around your arm. Try to minimize the blood loss.”

Yuri does as he’s told, trying to move as less as possible. Every part of his body hurts, hurts like a bitch, and all he wants to do is sleep, but he knows he cant afford to lose anymore blood, not if he wants to come out of this alive. Whatever _this_ is.

“Ok, if you’re do-“

“Where’s Otabek?”

It’s annoying Yuri, it’s annoying him a lot. Otabek isn’t here when he needs him the most, and the fact that he isn’t around isn’t as annoying as the fact that Yuri is upset in the first place. He doesn’t want to care this much but he cant seem to help himself, the question slipping out pretty much automatically.

“Oh!” The man doesn’t seem to be expecting that. “He’s actually-“

He’s interrupted by the sound of something shifting above Yuri. Fear turns the blood in Yuri’s veins ice cold, because he knows he won’t survive another one of these falls, there’s no way. He’s too bruised already, in far too much pain. A metal plate is removed, exposing a section of the roof to the shaft of the elevator before it’s thrown away. Yuri hears the metal grate clang against the floor a few beats later.

Two boots, the typical firemen boots, lower themselves from the roof, followed by muscular thighs clad in their signature red. It’s followed by a torso wrapped in brown harnesses, crisscrossed in black, before a muscular chest comes into view. The person controls their descent with their arms, the muscles flexing in the most hypnotic way, practically _bleeding_ strength. It’s mesmerizing. Yuri sees a neck, but the man’s face is blocked by his arms, his body perpendicular to Yuri’s line of vision. _Slowly_ , so slowly it’s almost like he isn’t moving at all, the man lowers himself till his toes touch the ground before letting go, the landing quiet as a whisper. He inhales sharply before turning to face Yuri.

Yuri knows, he just does. Call it gut instinct or maybe common sense, Yuri just knows.

“Otabek?”

The man nods slowly.

He’s different from what Yuri envisioned, and yet frighteningly similar. He’s all broad lines and sharp edges, cut like a Grecian god. His features aren’t particularly sharp, his eyes a soft black, lips a thin line. His hair is styled in an undercut that looks unfairly good, leading to a muscular neck that’s inked, the tattoo disappearing beneath the collar without giving away its secrets. Yuri swallows thickly.

“What are you doing here?”

Otabek ignores him, eyes roving over his body. Yuri would be disgusted if he didn’t realize how non-sexual the gaze was, and it becomes abundantly clear to him that the man is checking for injuries. His eyes halt at Yuri’s poorly bandaged arm before moving on.

“Your leg.”

Yuri doesn’t listen to what he’s saying, just listens to his voice. It’s so much better in real life, without the static of that damned speaker ruining its richness, the deep texture that makes it so human. It’s soothing, and Yuri just wants him to talk, so he can sleep.

Yuri realizes Otabek is waiting for his reply so he shakes his head and asks, “Could you repeat that?”

Otabek nods at his leg, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “How does your leg feel?”

“Leg?” Yuri slowly tries to move it.

 _Big mistake_.

He shouts, the sound echoing in the tiny space as tears prick his eyes and slide down his cheeks, the pain painting his vision white. Yuri really just wants to pass out now, he’s had enough.

“Calm down.” Otabek commands, voice firm. It’s grounding, and Yuri finds himself listening to his instructions, his body unwinding slowly but surely. The pain subsides marginally, just enough for him to get a grip on himself.

Otabek moves slowly, every step calculated, before sinking to his knees, eyes never leaving Yuri’s left leg. “It doesn’t look broken. I think it’s a sprain.”

Yuri clenches and unclenches his hand, white hot pain shooting up his leg like a throbbing heartbeat. He feels lightheaded from the blood loss, and he’s suddenly aware of how cold it is, a shiver rattling his entire frame.

“You need to listen to me.”

Yuri is not listening

“Hey.” A warm hand against his cheek jolts Yuri out of his stupor. He stares at Otabek with a dumbfounded expression on his face, feeling excessively vulnerable, but somehow, unconsciously, he leans into his touch.

Otabek simply looks at him for a moment, drinking in every detail the cameras can’t catch. He never knew the man had a light smattering of freckles on his nose, that his eyes were such an absolutely astonishing shade of green, touched with specks and wisps of blue that glimmer, even in the dimly lit elevator. But Otabek knows- now is not the time for him to gawk at the Russian Fairy.

Otabek sucks in a deep breath, “The elevator is in pretty bad shape. We’re closer to the ground now, but we’re hanging quite precariously by two of the eight cords, so we need to move carefully.”

“Wait.” Yuri holds his non injured hand up. “Why are you here? How did you even get here?”

“The crane lowered me into place.”

Yuri swallows, “And my first question?”

Otabek remains mum, staring at Yuri with pursed lips. They hold each other’s gazes, neither backing down, neither speaking.

Yuri doesn’t need Otabek’s words to understand. He doesn’t need them because he _knows_ what Otabek’s trying to say. _I came here because of you, because I need you to be safe._ He can see the sentiment in the clench of his jaw and the twitchiness of his fingers. It makes his heart stutter in his chest, and if he weren’t facing blood loss, he’s sure he’d be blushing.

Otabek breaks their gaze and coughs. “Anyway, we’re going to move over there.” He points at the wall joined to the one with the control panel. “We need to get there very carefully, so one step at a time. I’ll take the lead.”

Otabek gets on all fours slowly and begins to crawl, coming to a complete halt every time the elevator so much as jolts from his movements. Yuri’s just about done with this entire situation, his body drained. He just watches Otabek, concentrating on his movements.

Otabek finally props himself against the wall before beckoning Yuri. “Try not to move your injured leg too much, but you have to move towards me.”

The very first attempt to move closer to Otabek is terrible. The pain oscillates between unbearable and _why-am-I-not-dead-yet_ , but Otabek doesn’t let him give up. “You’re two steps away, I know you can do this. Come on!”

Yuri manages, by the skin of his teeth, to drag his body until he’s at arm’s length from Otabek, who grabs his uninjured arm gently and pulls him closer. Yuri groans and curses in pain, but makes no move to stop Otabek. He does lose a bit of consciousness in the middle though, so it comes to him as a bit of a surprise when he finds himself pressed against a rather warm and comfortable surface, namely Otabek’s chest. Otabek’s legs frame his body, his arms secured firmly around Yuri’s middle. His heartbeat is like a metronome, constant and reassuring, beating against Yuri’s back.

“What the actual fuck?”

Otabek chuckles softly behind him and Yuri’s stomach lurches. He curses himself.

“You were shivering a little, so I thought this might help. Please bear with me.”

Yuri mutters a few more curses under his breath but in the end, he just wiggles around a little till he finds a comfortable position and settles in, exhausted to the point where his eyes refuse to stay open for longer than a few moments.

“Oh before I forget, I stuffed some biscuits in my pocket, you really should eat some.”

Otabek removes one of his hands from around Yuri and Yuri’s tempted to tell him he doesn’t want the food, he just wants the man to hold him closer and keep him warm. His traitorous stomach however, has different ideas, growling loudly at the mention of food.

A scowl works its way onto Yuri’s face when he sees the packaging.

“Really? Raisin?”

Otabek shrugs, “That’s all my partner had. I apologise that I couldn’t get you any gourmet biscuits when I was busy hooking myself to a crane so I could get to you.”

Yuri almost snaps back when he realizes Otabek is _teasing_ , even if it’s in that same soft, monotonous tone. He sniffs instead, grabbing the packet and stuffing a cookie in his mouth.

“For your information,” he says around the cookie, stuffing another in along with the first. “I happen to like those cheap chocolate chip ones that are sold everywhere. They’re quite good, though Lilia would skin me alive if she caught me eating those.”

“Those are good,” Otabek nods while slowly reaching for the packet, plucking it out of Yuri’s grip.

“Slow down,” he admonishes when Yuri throws him a seething look, hands already reaching for the packet. “You’re going to choke otherwise.”

Otabek hands him the next biscuit but Yuri refuses to take it, simply opening his mouth instead. Otabek quirks a brow but doesn’t really question it. He pops the cookie in Yuri’s mouth and watches as he chews, slower than before but still slightly rushed. Then again, he cant blame the youth for being so hungry, especially after the long wait, the injury and the considerable blood loss.

“How do you feel?”

Yuri chews a bit more and swallows, deep in thought. “A bit lightheaded, and my leg hurts like a bitch, but otherwise semi decent. I’m fucking exhausted though.”

“It certainly is an exhausting day.”

Yuri turns in Otabek’s grip when he’s talking, but none of his words really register, not when Yuri finally notices his tongue. Or more specifically, the tiny piece of metal that’s piercing it.

Now Yuri has a lot of weaknesses. Cats are a huge one, pretty much any species really, be it big cats or domestic ones. His favorite hoodie is his tiger hoodie. His Russian nickname _Yuratchka_ is another, particularly when Victor or Yakov use it. Another less known one, is piercings.

He’s never been brave enough to get a piercing though he wants one desperately. He’s known as the Russian punk for his positively vile language, but that’s about as punk as he gets. Piercings, especially lip and tongue piercings, are sort of like a one hit KO for the man.

Yuri just stares at Otabek’s mouth, watching the piercing shine every time Otabek opens his mouth to speak, so completely engrossed. _Of course_ it suits him, finishing up the look perfectly. Yuri can no longer lie to himself- he thinks Otabek is pretty fucking hot.

Which is wholly unfair in his opinion, because that makes Otabek far too gifted. It’s unfair that he has that warm voice that makes Yuri feel like he’s safe; paired with these looks and that goddamn piercing and the man is pretty much Yuri’s definition of perfect.

“Fuck you Otabek.”

Otabek cocks his head, “That was rather spontaneous?”

“No I mean, just-“ Yuri turns around and pushes into him a little more, face buried into his good knee, “fuck you.”

Otabek probably realizes Yuri doesn’t mean it in a malicious way so he lets it go, but Yuri’s too busy fighting a war of his own to notice. It takes a huge chunk of his willpower not to turn back around and kiss those pink lips just to see how soft they really are.

The next ten minutes are spent in total and utter silence, except for when the fire brigade updates them on the situation, Otabek firing off commands at rapid speed, his arms around Yuri tightening every time. Yuri doesn’t care to listen, his head resting on Otabek’s shoulder as he slowly dozes off, drifting in and out of sleep.

“You’d think, after all these years, I’d change my mind.”

Yuri’s still pretty out of it but he manages to grumble out, “About what?”

“About which performance of yours is my favorite. But it’s always been the same. _Always_.”

Yuri feels a little more awake but his eyes remain shut. He can smell Otabek’s musky deodorant and cheap aftershave, feel the coarse fabric of his uniform brush against his skin, but it’s so very comfortable.

“And what’s that?”

Otabek leans forward, his lips ghosting over Yuri’s ear. “ _Agape_.”

Yuri’s breath hitches in his throat. He remembers dancing to Agape like it was yesterday and not five years ago. That choreography, that style, that emotion, _that_ had been the turning point for him. When he realized there was more to him than just raw emotion and sexual confidence, that Victor had seen that and made sure to bring that out in him. He’d scored better in most of his performances over the years, but Agape was something special to him, something he knew he’d always hold dear to his heart.

“Your Agape performance, from the first time you did it to the last, it made me feel free. I wasn’t even on the ice and I felt free. You looked so spectacular, glittering like a diamond and sailing through, just raw power and raw emotion, and it was utterly breathtaking.”

Yuri bites his lower lip before whispering, “That’s when it all truly began. That’s my start.”

Otabek rests his forehead on Yuri’s shoulder, sucking in a shaky breath. “I know,”

The last thing Yuri remembers is Otabek drawing tiny patterns on his hipbones, singing a soft lullaby under his breath, the lights in the elevator dimming before fading to a fathomless black.

~

When Yuri was a child, his closest companion was his grandpa. It was difficult for him to make friends- he was too girly for the boys, and too beautiful for the girls. He also had his pride, even as a five year old. He was determined to not care, to not be affected by the words spoken about him. He didn’t need anyone; as long as grandpa was by his side, he’d be ok.

That hasn’t changed, not at all. Grandpa still comes first. He’s Yuri’s pillar of strength, the one person Yuri is openly vulnerable with, the man that made him believe home isn’t a place, but a feeling.

It takes a moment for Yuri to realize that he isn’t dreaming grandpa’s voice. He isn’t dreaming his grandpa reading those old Russian fairy tales to him like he always does and always did when Yuri was a child, taking him on so many adventures. Yuri smiles, inhaling softly, the smell of rubbing alcohol and cleaning product invading his senses.

“Yurochka?”

Yuri frowns. Grandpa sounds sad, almost desperate, and Yuri doesn’t like that one bit. He’s always known his grandpa to be a strict, loving man that’s strong, even when everyone around him is crumbling. Yuri’s eyes flutter open and he sees white, a sickly white that can only exist in a hospital room. He shifts his head slightly to the right, his vision suddenly filled by his grandpa’s face.

“Yurochka!” his grandpa sounds elated, rushing forward and covering the distance between them, throwing his arms around him and crushing him to his chest. Yuri feels the air leave his lungs in a rush but he just buries his face in his grandpa’s sweater, comforted by the smell. Memories of how he got here, where he was before slowly resurface, and Yuri can’t be grateful enough that he’s safe, and alive.

Then he remembers his leg.

“My leg! What-“

His grandpa pushes him back into the bed, shushing him. “Relax Yurochka, your leg is fine. It was a minor sprain, the doc says you’ll be back on your feet and on the ice in two weeks or less.”

Yuri wants to be mad, he wants to curse because he’ll be losing time but he simply can’t. Because he’s lucky; he’s lucky it isn’t overly serious, that it isn’t costing him his career like Otabek’s did.

 _Otabek_.

Yuri’s entire body suddenly burns, and he feels himself blushing everywhere- his face, his ears, his neck all the way to his chest. (He’s a full body blusher, sue him)

He doesn’t remember the lift all that clearly, but Otabek, _god_ does he remember everything. The cut of his jaw, the silkiness of his hair, the warmth of his body. He’s pissed off to admit he’s disappointed the man isn’t here to greet him.

“How long have I been out?”

His grandpa furrows his brows, “About a day and a half? Your blood loss was more serious than previously anticipated, so they said this was natural.”

Yuri slowly sits up, with the help of his grandpa before he yells at Nikolai to take a seat himself who does, once Yuri promises him he’s ok. He looks around and sees at least four coats thrown around the room on the couches, a bed on the floor, and food packets everywhere.

“Victor and Yuuri Katsuki stayed the night. I don’t know how they managed to convince the nurse but they did. They got me and Lilia a room nearby, and Yakov has been in and out all day.”

Yuri’s throat goes dry and he has to look away. He knew they cared, of course they did, but to hear that they went through that much trouble for him? He wants to cry.

“Yurochka,” his grandpa mumbles, fingers carding through his blonde hair, “you have a very large family.”

Victor and Yuuri decide to walk in that very moment, and Victor nearly drops his coffee when he sees Yuri, sitting up and staring at him with wide eyes.

“Neko-chan!” Victor wails, rushing towards him before he tackles him into a hug, squeezing him so tight Yuri has to physically pry him off, with the help of Yuuri.

“Calm down, you dummy,” Yuuri gently scolds, smacking the back of Victor’s head. “You’re hurting him.”

Victor nods absently, his hand grabbing Yuri’s, holding it to his chest.

“I’m, I’m so _glad_ you’re ok.” Victor’s eyes shimmer with unshed tears, and Yuri’s heart thrums as he resists the urge to pull the man into another hug.

“Stop being so emotional old man,” he mutters instead, cracking a smile when Victor gasps in his oh so dramatic manner.

Yuuri pushes his husband away and raises his hand, slowly cupping Yuri’s face, searching his eyes for pain.

He pulls him into a gentle hug, smelling of chocolate and sunshine. “I’m just so glad you’re ok.” His voice cracks.

Yuri decides to blame temporary insanity when he wraps his hands around Yuuri and bury his face in his neck, basking in his love and warmth. It feels so incredibly comfortable, being surrounded by these people, _his_ people.

“Lilia and Yakov are on their way,” Victor informs him, scrolling through his phone. “Yakov is going to yell at you for sure, just a head’s up.”

Yuri groans and lets his head hit the pillow, sighing loudly. He’s most certainly not looking forward to that.

He’s happy, elated even, but he feels like something is missing. It almost makes his feel selfish, but he cant help the nag in his gut. He looks around the room when Yuuri catches his eye, a slight smirk on his face.

“You’ve got so many bouquets it’s ridiculous. Suffice to say, your fan club is going beserk.”

Yuri looks away, dwindling his thumbs slowly.

“Any of them from an Otabek? Otabek Altin?”

“As a matter of fact,” Yuuri declares, a shit eating grin on his face, “yes! Gimme a minute, it’s in the store room.”

Yuri doesn’t miss it when Yuuri grabs Victor’s arm and softly whispers _I win_ before leaving the room.

He throws a questioning look towards Victor who shrugs him off.

The doctor is conducting a few small tests when Yuuri returns with a small bouquet of white camellia’s, a note stuck to the top. He hands it to Yuri when the doctor leaves the room, finding some sort of excuse to pull Victor out of the room. His grandpa’s gone back to the hotel, promising to have dinner with him. Yuuri’s pushing Victor out but he sticks his head in at the last moment and throws Yuri a wink, mischievous and knowing. Yuri blushes and stares at the bouquet, the scent soothing his nerves.

With shaky hands, he picks the note up and opens it, his breath catching when he notices Otabek’s neat scrawl.

_Yuri._

_I hope you’re ok, and I know you’re strong enough to be back on the ice in no time at all. Albeit our circumstances were quite ghastly, I am immensely grateful that I had the pleasure of your company. Good luck for all your future endeavors, and I hope our previous meeting was the first of many._

_Yours,_

_Otabek._

_PS- My number’s on the back page, do give me a call if that’s what you wish. I shall be waiting._

Yuri flips the card over, staring at the digits intensely. Otabek makes it look like Yuri has a choice but they both know that’s not the case, it hadn’t been from the moment Otabek had said his name.

Yuri finds his phone on the table beside the bed and grabs it, glad to see it nearly fully charged.

He sucks in a steadying breath and dials, nervous and excited and completely and utterly giddy.

Three rings.

“Hello?”

Yup. His voice really is incredible.

“Nice of you to be here for me when I finally wake up.”

Otabek laughs softly and Yuri knows. He’s so utterly and completely _whipped_.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s ok.

**Author's Note:**

> please validate my existence with comments.
> 
>  _white camellia's - you're adorable_
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](http://qitwrites.tumblr.com)


End file.
